Among the Welsh Hills

Front matter

It was not an easy letter to write. Page 277. Frontispiece. BY M. C. HALIFAX, , AUTHOR OF (i AFTER LOSG TEARS," " GILBERT'S FIRST T07A0E," ETC, ETC. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. LONDON : HUTCHINSON & CO., 25, PATERNOSTER SQUARE. " The whole inheritance I give." — Henry VI. " As I must for my own honour." — As You Like It. PEOLOGUE. It was a wild, winter's night on the Welsh coast; the waves thundered on the shore and the wind howled dismally round Dimlands' lonely Hall. Dimlands was a plain, heavy, square building of two stories, with small upper windows and battle mented front ; and it stood on the slope of a little headland some few hundred yards from the beach. The country round was bleak and bare, but the Hall lay somewhat sheltered by the cliff that rose behind, and in the summer time its well-kept grounds were gay and pretty, and gave much pleasure to the neighbouring country folk who were free to walk through them every Thursday, if they so pleased.

But summer had long since departed, and on this c stormy December night John Desborough, the master of Dimlands, lay in an upper chamber, dying. It was a sombre room, furnished with heavy antique furniture, and a great solemn four-post bedstead on which reclined the dying man propped up with pillows. A fire blazed on the hearth, and at a small table drawn near to it — for it was a bitterly cold night — a gentleman about fifty-eight sat busily writing. A respectable, middle-aged woman moved softly to and fro anxiously waiting on her master ; wiping his damp brow, and every few minutes holding restoratives to his pale lips. " You are a good nurse, Lewis, and you have been a faithful servant. I have not forgotten you in my Will," said Mr. Desborough faintly. " Blunt, is it finished ?" " It will be in a few minutes, John," answered the lawyer, looking up for a moment.

" I leave everything to Florence, mind ; everything I possess. Except the few annuities and legacies mentioned in my former Will. Five hundred pounds to yourself, Michael, in remembrance of our long and friendly acquaintance ; and five thousand pounds to Stephen Meredith. Have you written that ?" "Not yet. I am coming to it as fast as I can." " Your pen runs along nimbly enough this time " said Desborough with a wan smile. "No anger; no expostulations." " No ; because you are doing the right thing

Prologue

. now," returned Blunt warmly. "I am very glad to repair the injustice of your former AVill. It was wicked and unnatural to leave your only child pen niless, though she did marry without your consent." " But that was just after she — she left me. My heart was sore. I made over my business to another firm at once, you may remember. What was the use of heaping up money when I had no one to spend it on ? Stephen Meredith had been my right hand ; he had helped me to make my fortune, and I thought then that he had the best right to inherit it." " Well, well ; it will be all right now," said Michael cheerily. " Your wealth will go to your natural heir, and five thousand pounds will be quite a fortune to Meredith. By-the-way, when you have signed this document it would be as well to destroy the other, then your daughter need never know any thing about it."

" Ah, but she does know," answered the sick man sadly. "A year ago when her husband died she came to me with her baby girl in her arms and besought me again to forgive her. But I was stern and cruel, and I told her then and there that I had made a Will and left everything to Meredith. 'I do not care for your money, father, only forgive me,' she pleaded. But I would not, though the tears were in her eyes. My poor child ! But I do forgive her," he added excitedly. "I take you, Michael, and you, Lewis, to witness that I forgive her with all my heart ; and in token of my love leave every thing to her, and to her child after her." " There, there, John. You must not excite your self," said Mr. Blunt kindly, coming to his friend's bedside. " Bemember what the doctors say." " Yes, yes ; I know," assented the other impa tiently.

"'Keep your mind at rest,' they say, 'and you may live several days.' Idiots ! How can my mind be at rest when I am longing to atone for wrong done to my own flesh and blood; when I am wearying to see my child, my only child, whom my own hardness and folly drove away from my home. No ; don't try to stop me, Blunt, I ivill speak ; it is a relief. Too late I see my fatal error. I was too grave and cold. I never sought to win my child's confidence, and when she grew to woman hood she turned elsewhere for sympathy. What wonder was it ! When she came to me blushing and sweet with her innocent love tale, I turned on her harshly and bade her forget the young doctor. And not content with that, I allowed a suitor whom I favoured, to pester her with unwelcome attentions. She thought I would force her into a hateful mar riage and — and — There, you know the rest.

Now I am dying a lonely old man, and Florence will never know how her father loved her," and his head sank back on the pillow and the poor dry lips quivered. " Come, old friend, this will never do," interposed Michael cheerfully. " Did not Meredith send word

PROLOGUE.

. 5 yesterday that he had found a clue to Mrs. Llewelyn's whereabouts, and hoped to bring her to your side within twenty -four hours. If you would see her again you must husband your strength and avoid excitement. Remember, it depends upon yourself !" " True. You are right. I will be calm," assented John Desborough eagerly, the light of hope irra diating his pallid face. "I will try to sleep;" and he turned his head and closed his eyes. " That is well," said the kindhearted lawyer. "Best now until I have finished your Will ; then you shall Bign it, and your mind will be more easy." Mr. Blunt went back to the table by the fire and resumed his writing, and the scratching of his busy pen was the only sound in the silent room. Outside the storm raged on unchecked. The thunder of the sea and the shriek of the wind blended in a wild, continuous uproar ; and large flakes of foam mingled with the rain and hail that dashed against the windows.

Every now and then a furious gust made even the stout oak floors of Dimlands tremble, shook every door and window, and seemed to wail along the passages and whistle through every keyhole. "It is a rough night," said Michael to himself, laying down his pen and listening to the tempest. "God help those at sea!" His work was done. He rose ; stirred the smouh dering logs into a blaze, and looked at the grey, worn face on the pillow. John Desborough lay in an uneasy sleep, often moaning and turning restlessly from side to side. Blunt stood and watched him, and wished he would wake. He was anxious — strangely anxious — that this new Will should be signed. He dreaded lest any sudden shock should snap the frail thread of life ere justice had been done to the bright, sweet-tempered girl whom he had known from her childhood, and who was now a poor, sorrowful, homeless young widow, living with her little one no one knew how or where.

Michael had a much-loved daughter of his own, and he hated the sight of the unjust document which deprived poor Florence of her inheritance; and, lawyer as he was, he longed to thrust it in the fire. "How can he sleep through such a din?" he muttered, glancing at the sleeper, as a wild blast swept round the house, to be succeeded by another and yet another with hardly a moment's lull. He crossed the room to where the housekeeper sat, a mute attentive nurse by her master's bedside. "Mrs. Lewis, will you go down and bid my clerk and one of the servants be in readiness to witness the signing of the Will the moment your master awakes? I am anxious it should be done without delay." "Yes, indeed, sir," answered the woman sjonpa thetically; and she left the room instantly. Mr. Blunt sat down in the empty chair, and waited. rROLOGUE.

A lamp stood on the top of an old bureau beside the head of the bed, and another on the table rear the sire ; but neither their soft light, nor the wood fire's ruddy glow, could pierce the darkness tlat enveloped the distant corners of the apartment. Tlie great, gaunt bedstead, with its dark crimson hmgings, looked gloomy and funereal; the furniture was of black oak, the walls pannelled with the same, and Michael wondered at the sombre taste displayed in his friend's surroundings. " It is not the room I should choose to die in," he thought, as he softly drew back the curtain, which shaded the light from the sick man's face. " Poor John !" Five and forty years ago they had been friends and school-fellows; and though as men they had been less intimate, the old kindly feeling still survived and gre'tf stronger now that the moment of final parting drew near.

For Desborough's days were numbered. Death was written on the fine, worn countenance ; on the stern brow, and the firmly set lips. It was only a question of hours. He might linger for a day or two, or he might be cut off that night. As Michael watched, the sleeper awoke, and started into a sitting posture. "Guns! guns! A ship in distress. Oh, God! the ship, and Florence on board!" and he flung aside the bedclothes, and was about to step upon the floor, when Michael gently stopped him. "I hear no guns,1' he said soothingly. "It is but a dream, John. Stay where you are." AMONG TBE WELSH HILLS. Desbdrough looked at him perplexed. "Was that a dream?" he said, with slowly returning consciousness. " I thought No matter. Is the Will ready, Blunt?" "Yes; quite." " Then send for witnesses, and let me sign it."

" They are here, sir," answered Mrs. Lewis, entering, followed by Blunt's elerk and one of the men servants. " Those two !" exclaimed her master, fretfullj. " They are not enough. Fetch more. I would tha whole world could see me sign it." The housekeeper departed, and Michael, who would not oppose his friend's wish, laid the Will before him on an open desk, with pen and ink in readi ness. In a few minutes Mrs. Lewis returned, bringing with her the coachman and two or three maidser vants. " That is better. Lewis, prop me up. Another pillow. There, that will do," and Mr. Desborough took up the pen and dipped it into the ink. Then, holding it in his hand, looked round and said distinctly, " This is my Will. I leave all I possess to my daughter, Mrs. Llewelyn, and to her child after her. And I pray God in his mercy to let me see them both before I die." There was a murmured " Amen " from the older servants, who had known and loved their master's

PROLOGUE.

. 9 daughter from her girlhood upwards ; and all watched eagerly, as with a slow but steady hand the master of Dimlands began to trace his name. He had written the word " John," when, in a momentary lull of the storm, all heard the tramp of horse's feet on the drive below ; and then the clatter of iron hoofs on stone rang out distinctly as the animal passed through a paved archway into the court-yard below. There was no sound of wheels ! The pen dropped from Desborough's hand. "Mere dith has returned; returned alone! Would she not come ?" Then, turning to the coachman, he bade him go down quickly and bring up Mr. Meredith just as he was without a moment's delay. " Bring him straight here, and ask no questions," he added imperatively, as the man prepared to obey. "I will go for him," said Mr. Blunt, fearing evil tidings, and anxious to soften it in the telling as much as possible.

"No, Michael; no. The news he brings is mine, and I will hear it first." Five minutes of breathless, unbroken silence followed, a*id all eyes turned eagerly to the door as the sound of approaching footsteps met the ear. A man in dripping garments, pale, sad, and splashed from head to foot, entered, and approached the bed. " My daughter ? Have you seen her ?" demanded Desborough quickly. " Speak man," he added, as the new comer hesitated. " I have not seen her," replied the other in a low tone. "But you have heard of her? She is well? She will come to me ? I say she is well ?" reiterated the sick man, almost fiercely. Meredith's eyes fell. He could not meet the poor father's look of hungering love and keen anxiety. " It is well with her," he answered in solemn but unsteady tones. A low cry broke from one of the women.

Des borough's face turned ashen grey. " She is dead ?" he said quietly. " She is." " And the child ?" Meredith fell on his knees and fairly sobbed aloud. " Oh, God help you, my poor master, the child is taken too." The old man fell back into the arms of his faith ful nurse. " Both gone. Too late, too late !" and with that bitter cry his spirit fled. PLYGAIN. 11

Chapter I. Plygain

The clock struck five on Christmas morning, and Gwenny, who ought to have been out of bed ten minutes ago, was still lying in her warm, white-cur tained nest. It was a pretty little chamber, papered with pink rose-buds and neatly carpeted, and — besides the bed — contained a washing-stand, bookcase, and a small chest of drawers, which did duty likewise as a dressing-table. In the long, light days, Gwenny was always called by Aunt Mary, who came into the room and drew up the blind, and then the first thing the child saw when she jumped out of bed were the hens and chickens roaming afar in the meadow beyond the lawn, and the mist rolling away up the hill side. But now it was cold and dark, and Gwenny half asleep still lay blinking at the candle on the mantelpiece, and wondering stupidly how it got there, and if she ought to put it out ?

Before she could come to any conclusion some one thumped at her door, and a boy's voice shouted, "Aren't you ready, Gwenny? The coffee's ground and the ham smells so nice. Uncle's told Bright to saddle the horses, and if you don't make haste you won't have any breakfast," and with that the speaker hurried away downstairs. " Oh, dear," cried Gwenny in "dismay, and she sprang out of bed and began to dress in great haste. She was not yet nine years of age, but she was ac customed to do things for herself, and in a very short time her toilette was completed; and equipped in a warm woollen jacket and a long riding skirt, which she held up with both hands, she ran down stairs and made her way to the parlour. Mr. Vaughan, vicar of Bryngwyn, his maiden sister Mary, and their nephew Cynric were already seated at the table, and the business of breakfast had commenced.

All looked up as Gwenny entered, and responded to her salutation of "A Merry Christmas." " My little girl must be quick," said Mr. Vaughan, drawing the child towards him, and kissing her eager little face. "I will, uncle," she answered, slipping quickly into her accustomed place. " Or we shall have to go without you," put in Cynric. PLYGAIN 13 Gwenny's eyes sought her uncle's in sudden fear. "You won't?" she said appealingly. " No, no ; don't be afraid. Get on with your breakfast." And reassured on this important point Gwenny was able to enjoy her ham and coffee ; which, because it was Christmas Day, superseded the children's usual morning fare of milk, and bread and butter. To both this early meal by candlelight was a delightful novelty, enhanced by the prospect of what was to come after ; a ride with uncle through the dark to Plygain, the six o'clock Welsh service at the parish church.

The children had never been to this early service, but had often heard of it, and the unusual hour at which it was held, necessitating a hurried breakfast and departure before daybreak, had invested it in their eyes with peculiar interest ; and their going on the present occasion had been looked forward to as a great treat. Gwenny obeyed her uncle, and ate her breakfast quickly and silently, although the excitement of this new experience would not permit her to give undi vided attention to the good things before her. Her eyes wandered round the familiar room. It was morning, and yet the shutters were shut and the curtains drawn as they were last night when she went to bed. And it was Christmas morning too ! There was the holly on the walls and the big Christ mas cake on the sideboard. And there on the sofa lay her hat and gloves ; in a few minutes she would be on Jenny's back riding away up the drive with uncle and "Now Gwenny," said Mr. Vaughan, "are you ready ?"

" Yes ; quite," she replied with alacrity. " Then, Cynric, run and tell Bright to bring the horses out." The boy obeyed. Miss Vaughan tied Gwenny's hat, and helped her brother to draw on his over coat ; and then the three, in homely fashion, trooped out through the clean, sanded kitchen, and, passing through a small paved courtyard, came to a short flight of steps leading down to the large farmyard. A few stars twinkled overhead, the cock crowed lustily in the big sycamore tree, and Bright's lantern bobbed about in the darkness as he led the horses from the stable. Cynric was already mounted, and had something to do to manage his pony, which, with ears pressed back, was wheeling round and round, and in various other ways testifying his decided displeasure at being taken from his warm stable at so early an hour.

"Bide on up the drive, Bic," called out Mr. Vaughan. " That will quiet him. We'll follow. Come Gwenny." The child came forward, and her uncle lifted her quickly into the saddle, and placed the reins in the careful little hands that knew very well how to guide them. "Here's your whip, Gwenny," said Aunt Mary. PLYGAIN. " Now let me arrange your skirt. There ! That will do." In the meantime Mr. Vaughan had mounted his grey horse, Jack, and with a hasty " Good morning," the riders moved out of the lantern's wavering light and disappeared into the darkness. Miss Vaughan returned to the parlour, and drew back the curtains and opened the shutters. Then she turned to the table, straightened the cloth, brushed away the crumbs, and removed the dirty cups, plates and knives, and set clean ones in their places.

John aud the children would be wanting a second breakfast when they came back from church. She yawned over her work. She had been up since four o'clock, when she called the maids — for they too had gone to Plygain, and, having to walk, had started at five — and before that she had risen aud gone downstairs to see that the kitchen and parlour fires had not gone out; and the know ledge that the arousing of the household in proper time depended upon her had made her own slumbers light and broken. When she had finished her task to her satisfac tion she extinguished the candles, stirred the fire, and then sat down in an arm-chair that stood in vitingly near. She was alone in the quiet house, the room was warm and cosy, and she was tired ; and in a few minutes the flickering fire-light fell on her sleeping face.

In the meantime Mr. Vaughan and the children were riding swiftly towards the church. On they went through the chill gloom, along narrow lanes, under overhanging hedgerows, past lonely farms and cottages, where faithful watch dogs raised their voices as the unusual clatter went sweeping by. Presently they reached their destination, and dis mounted at a small public-house close outside the churchyard walls. Mr. Vaughan led the way to the church, and Cynric and Gwenny followed, glad to be able to warm their blue noses and numbed fingers at the blazing vestry fire. "There's a wedding this morning, sir," said Jones, the clerk, bustling about with a pleased expression. "Is there ?" returned the vicar, spreading his hands to the grateful warmth. " When did you hear of it ?" "Only this morning, sir; but it is a fortnight since the banns were out.

The young man came round to the vestry door just now. They are both in church. Would like to be married after the service." " Very well," said Mr. Vaughan, preparing to don his surplice. " Cynric, you and Gwenny had better go into church now. We are late. It is ten minutes past six." The children obeyed, and soberly made their way to the big, square vicarage pew, which was directly opposite the pulpit and reading desk. The pew was high, like all the others, and when the children sat down they were completely swallowed up in it, and could see nothing. Gwenny did not approve of being thus shut off from the rest of the congre- PLYGAIN. 17 gation ; and by dint of kneeling upright on the seat with the cushion doubled under her, managed to obtain a glimpse of the outer world. Cynric rebuked her for this unusual proceeding with all the dignity of an elder brother ; but, perceiving that the ar rangement answered, immediately adopted it him self, though being a year and a half older he did not require the cushion doubled.

It was a cold, bare church, devoid of any kind of ornament. It was large too for a country church ; too large for the usual congregation, which did not average more than thirty persons. But on the present occasion it was not only full, but crowded, many persons having come from a distance in their desire to take part in the observance of an old and popular custom. And of these many were Dissen ters, who at other times would not think of entering a church, unless it were to be married, or to hear some famous preacher. But to attend Plygain was not considered to betoken any laxity of Noncon formist principles, or any falling away from Chapel membership. On this Christmas morning, long ago, the church was dressed with the usual rude profusion of evergreens; boughs, and bunches of holly and laurel being stuck in every available nook and corner, but with an utter absence of any attempt at systematic decoration.

The effect, however, was both pleasing and picturesque. Solitary candles twinkled here and there amid the evergreens, their flickering light c falling on glossy leaves and earnest, upturned faces ; and gusty sighs, affirmative "aye," "ayes," and fervent "amens" occasionally breaking forth from various parts of the dimly illumined building, testi fied to the interest excited by the sermon, and the general approval of the sentiments contained in it. Gwenny's little pale face, her brown eyes wide open, and full of interest, peered over the top of the vicarage pew. To her the encircling gloom, the flickering candles, the embowering evergreens, the rapt air of the congregation were all sources of grati fication; items in the sum of a new and delightful experience. The children had followed the service by the aid of a Welsh and English Prayer Book, and when with hearty unanimity the hymn burst forth, rising and falling with the plaintive melody peculiarly characteristic, Gwenny's little frame had quivered with excitement, and the tears rushed into her eyes.

"Fine isn't it?" whispered Cynric; aud his sister, unable to answer or look up, had nodded in reply. Now they were both gravely listening to the sermon. They did not understand a word, for it was in Welsh, but they felt that it was a good one; and they liked to listen to the flow of language that sounded soft and harmonious from the educated lips of the preacher. Mr. Vaughan had a pleasing voice, and the children understood its every tone, and could readily distinguish between the calm accents of introduction and explanation, the warmer tones of argument, and the fervour of exhortation; PLYGAIN. and felt the force— though they could not comprehend a syllable — of his peroration. When the service was concluded, and the blessing pronounced, Cynric drew a long breath. " Now for the wedding," he said softly.

" Come, Gwenny ;" and he opened the pew door, and led the way to the chancel. A few neatly dressed persons of the working class stood" together evidently waiting. There was a short delay, for it was not yet quite eight o'clock, and then Mr. Vaughan, having glanced at his watch, came down the aisle and took his stand within the Communion rails, and a young man and woman stepped forward and placed themselves before him. " Are they going to be married ?" whispered Gwenny, eyeing the pair with manifest surprise and disapproval. " Yes. They'll have to repeat a lot after uncle, presently," returned Cynric, who had witnessed a wedding before, and was proud to show off his superior knowledge. "But they look so — so like everybody else," objected his sister in a low tone. " Of course. Why shouldn't they ?" returned the practical boy.

Gwenny was silent. She was greatly disappointed. Her ideas of a wedding were vague but magnificent, and associated with the silken robes and flashing gems of Fairyland's bold princes and fair princesses. Since she had heard that a wedding was about to o2 take place she had looked forward to it as the crown ing delight of this delightful morning. She had un consciously pictured it to herself as a sort of pageant in which the principal actors would be at once re cognizable by their charms of dress and person ; and it was a kind of revelation to the child to per ceive that brides and bridegrooms were not, of ne cessity, more distinguished than their neighbours, and that persons who looked "like everybody else'-' might yet play the chief part in that momentous ceremony called "a wedding." But though disappointed, Gwenny was still keenly observant ; and, perhaps, the most striking figure in that bridal group was the fair-haired child who stood so grave and still, holding up her little habit with both hands, and surveying the scene with an expression of the deepest interest.

When all was over, and the wedding-party turned to enter the vestry, an elderly woman, a friend of the bride, caught sight of Gwenny for the first time. She started, and advanced towards her. " What is your name, my dear ?" she questioned eagerly. " Who are you? " " I am uncle's little girl," answered the child, half affronted at the strange inquiry. "Yes. She is my sister," added Cynric, by way of explanation. The woman sighed, and with a lingering look passed on. " Of course it's impossible," she mur mured. "But she is like her; very like." HOME, AND AUNT MARY.

Chapter II. Home, And Aunt Mary

Bryngwyn Vicarage was situated in a remote corner of the parish, a mile and a half from the church ; and more than three miles from the Post Office, the Chapel of Ease, and the busy mining village of Darran. Not three miles of good, level turnpike road, be it understood ! He who would reach the Vicarage must turn his back on that evidence of civilization, and for at least two-thirds of the dis tance be content to follow the windings of a narrow, steep, and often rugged parish road, which, after many ups and downs, varied by fine views of the adjacent county, would bring him at length to a high, green gate by the wayside. Arrived there he would see the Vicarage lying before him on a gentle slope. It was approached by a drive through the field, which surrounded it on three sides. On the fourth and lower side lay the farm yard, out-buildings and orchard ; and below that the land shelved down into a deep and narrow glen, at the bottom of which ran a shallow, gurgling brook.

Mr. Vaughan had enlarged the Vicarage, added a wing, and made other improvements, and it was now a comfortable house. Its chief rooms looked to the south and west ; and a pretty green verandah HILLB. extended along the front of the older portion, shading— but not unpleasantly— the windows of the study and drawing-room, and the hall door which stood between. The lawn is circular in shape; a walk runs round it, and on the other side are flower beds, protected by evergreens and a wire fence. A little gate opens on to the drive, which sweeps round to the yard at the hack. The big sycamore lifts its green boughs above the roof; the summer wind sighs through the clumps of Scotch fir that grow to the east and west of the house. Poor old home among the far off hills ! I see it now as I saw it last ; its windows gleaming in the June sun, its old walls wearing a friendly aspect to the young creatures quitting their shelter for ever, going forth to mingle in the battle of life, to fail, to conquer, or to die, as Heaven might decree !